


Revenge, Denial and Hobgoblins

by ms_anthrophy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Slash, Feels, Humor, Light Angst, Multi, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Pre-Het, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_anthrophy/pseuds/ms_anthrophy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Odd jobs, weird creatures and even weirder ways to charm girls.  All in all, a normal day in Dean Winchester's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge, Denial and Hobgoblins

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-series, set during the two years Sam and Dean didn't even talk to each other. Beta'd by lovely and awesome luciusmistress.

Dean was royally pissed off. His last credit card -well, not _his_ per se, just someone's who wore his face and was known to the world as Bruce Dickinson- was maxed out. Why the fuck did that damn hobgoblin had to just jump right in front of the Impala? Why did it had to be one of those with hard, spiky carapaces? Dean's Baby had suffered serious wounds from the encounter, so most of his money had gone towards fixing the damage. Spare parts had been hard to come by, not to mention expensive. 

Nasty critters, those hobgoblins. They preferred to snack on children, but they were completely capable of killing armed adults as well. Dean had burned their nest and shot everything that escaped the fire. Or so he had thought. The last three that had planned the ambush had not lived long to celebrate their success. Dean had descended upon them like particularly intense wrath of God, but revenge did nothing to help the sorry state of his car.

Dean had applied for a new fake credit card (or Kirk Hammett had, anyway) but the process took time, and now he was stuck in the middle of nowhere. In a tiny excuse of a town that had one bar and hustling pool was seriously frowned upon there. (What had crawled up the owner's ass and died, anyway? Hopefully another spiky fucking hobgoblin.) So, Dean had to take whatever odd jobs there were to keep himself fed. Luckily, a local coffee shop had been badly understaffed, and Dean's fake bright smile and natural charm had helped him over not having a resume. 

It sucked, though. Case in point, being a waiter sucked, his pay sucked, his impolite but snotty customers sucked and his life sucked. Possibly hobgoblin balls. (Those, apparently, were spiky too. One had been stuck in the Impala's air conditioning and it had been an absolute bitch to remove.) 

The worst thing wasn't the job or being stuck in Bumfuck, Nowhere, but they had to do when Dean felt like being angry with his life. Because the worst thing was Sam. The absence of Sam, to be precise. Their last fight had been a few months ago - when Dean had visited Sam in Stanford - and he wasn't going back because Sam'd probably shut the door to his face and he wasn't thinking about that. At all. Sam had been wrong, he was a stubborn, selfish, irritating little bitch and Dean didn't even remember what the fight had been about, and it hurt, it hurt like Hell and he wasn't thinking about Sam. Wasn't thinking of Sam's soft lips or his long, dextrous fingers, not even his spectacular ass, definitely not thinking of the sex that was fast and dirty and violent and the best thing ever. (Or the closeness and the primal, easy connection, Dean wasn't even not-thinking about that.)

It was easier to concentrate on hating the woman who had wrinkled her nose at Dean and icily commented about her coffee being cold, her voice dripping with contempt. Fuck, of course it gets cold when you sit there reading some awful romance novel while your untouched coffee gathers dust for half an hour or so. Also, she came around about four times a week, always snotty and sour and leaving tips that _might_ have been visible with a microscope. Dean wanted to tell her to choke on spiky hobgoblin balls.

But it didn't do to show anything else than polite, sheepish obedience to a paying customer, so Dean apologized and got her a new cup of coffee. It was also a lot easier to smile when the lady drank her coffee with a sour expression on her face, not knowing that Dean had rubbed his dick on the inside of the cup before he filled it up. 

Dean's colleague, a busty redhead named Tina, had seen the whole thing. That wasn't a problem and Dean had known it. Tina's cleavage had apparently offended the same woman personally a few days before -she'd pointedly commented to her friend on her absolute distaste for women looking like sluts. (One thing more against the bitch; as far as Dean was concerned, slutty women were awesome. Not to mention, where was she supposed to put her tits anyway?) 

Tina had stifled a giggle and winked at him -the expression was a clear "I totally appreciate that, and by the way, I might also be interested in getting to know your dick better personally". Dean flashed a lewd grin at her. She was cute and funny-ish, nothing overtly special (" _not Sam_ ", said the persistent voice inside his head) but nice. Definitely nice. His day had certainly turned for the better already. Never underestimate the power of a dick prank.


End file.
